A New Quidditch Game
by fuzzyalligator
Summary: Oliver just wants to prepare for his final attempt at the Quidditch Cup, but Flint has other ideas.


Title: A New Quidditch Game  
><span>Author<span>: fuzzyalligator  
><span>Rating<span>: T  
><span>Genre<span>: Romance, Humor, General  
><span>Disclaimer<span>: Not mine, I'm just having fun with two fit Quidditch players for now ;)

A/N: Oliver Wood/Marcus Flint slash, first time ever writing this particular couple. Written for Flint-x-Wood's contest over at deviantART. I don't expect to win, but this sure was a lot of fun to write. There will most likely be more of these two in the future. xD

oO0Oo

"I'm going out!" Oliver called to his mother before she could question him about his chores. She didn't seem to understand how important this year was for him. There was nothing more vital to him than winning the Quidditch Cup this year; it was his final chance.

It was only a few weeks until school started again, and he wanted to figure out a training schedule as well as more techniques for the team. He'd been coming up with ideas since sixth year ended.

Wandlessly and nonverbally, Oliver's broom flew from the shed where it was kept when he was at home and to his outstretched hand.

It was a hot, beautiful August day. The birds were singing, the wind cooled his sweating body occasionally, and there was no one to bother Oliver while he thought. Quickly and expertly, he mounted his broom and flew around the few trees in the open field.

Before he even looked at the parchment in his back pocket, he decided to just fly around for a bit to clear his head. His parents had started asking him what his plans were for the future. Actually, it was just his mum. His father understood what he really wanted to do and even encouraged him. But his mother…

"Oi, Wood!"

Oliver almost fell off his broom when he heard the deep voice down below him. Marcus Flint was leaning against one of the trees with his arms crossed over his bare chest, smirking up at the Gryffindor boy.

Not many people knew that the Flints were practically neighbors with Oliver's family. Oliver had grown up knowing the Slytherin Chaser.

"What do you want, Flint?" Oliver called down to the black haired boy while he continued to fly in the air. Although the wind was a nice reprieve from the heat, flying around on his broom really helped cool Oliver down. "Shouldn't you be at home thinking up new ways to butter up Malfoy?"

Flint shook his head lightly and slowly walked into the open field. Oliver tried to not admire how toned the other boy was now, knowing that if he was caught he'd never hear the end of it. "And shouldn't you be at home with mummy?"

The brunet glared down at him but continued to move in the sky. "If you're just here to insult me, you can go," he stated, not looking at him. "I've got Quidditch to think about."

"Is that all you care about?" Flint called up to him, following where he was flying on the ground. "It's no wonder you never had a girlfriend."

Oliver remained silent as he flew around, trying his best to ignore him. He really didn't have time to argue with Flint, there was still so much he needed to plan out. Like…how long would he be able to have practice five days a week until the others-

"Oi!" Flint called again, chuckling when Oliver glared down at him. "Still thinking 'bout the Cup, aren't you." It was a statement rather than a question. The Slytherin knew him so well…

Finally giving in, Oliver flew down to the ground, landing just a few feet away from the black haired boy. "At least I have something to look forward to. Unlike you. I heard your mum won't let you play Quidditch this year after failing."

At the mention of his failure, Flint's smirk turned into a scowl which Oliver regretted instantly. Before fists could start flying, Oliver took a giant step back with his hands held up in surrender. "Look, I'm not in the mood to fight, Flint. It's too damn hot."

He thought he heard Flint mumble something but didn't question him. After all, if Oliver was meant to hear it, he wouldn't have whispered.

The two were silent as Oliver climbed back onto his broom but hovered a few feet off the ground. "What _are_ you doing here, Flint?" the Gryffindor asked, gripping the broom in front of him while looking at the other boy.

"Why do you care?" Flint asked with a mild glare then ran a hand through his sweat-damped hair. It looked like he was deliberating something in his head but spoke before Oliver could. "Let me borrow a broom."

Oliver arched an eyebrow, "Why would I do that?"

Flint looked at him slowly with a smirk. "So we can play Quidditch, idiot."

The two boys stared at one another, each thinking the idea through. Flint was obviously meant to be at home studying or something to that effect and Oliver knew better than to fraternize with the enemy. But the prospect of playing Quidditch after so many weeks of not being on a broom – and maybe that fact that Oliver wanted to see Flint playing half naked – was too much.

"Don't go anywhere," Oliver said before speeding back to his house to get the supplies. It didn't take long to retrieve the Quaffle, broom, and shrunken hoop from the shed. Oliver just had to make sure he wasn't seen by his mother.

By the time he returned to the field, the sun had risen higher and the wind had died down. Flint was leaning against the same tree as before with his eyes closed, his body covered in even more sweat than before.

He opened his grey eyes when Oliver landed and smirked. "Took you long enough," he commented, pushing away from the tree.

Oliver rolled his own eyes before peeling off his own shirt and toeing off his shoes. It wasn't very wise to ride a broom with so little protection but the heat was too much for him. "Let's just get started," he replied before enlarging the hoop.

Once everything was ready, both boys mounted their brooms and hovered a few feet off the ground. "Best out of ten wins," Oliver stated then headed toward the hoop. Before he could reach the golden goal, Flint called out to him.

"What does the winner get?"

Oliver thought for a moment before making a wide turn. "What do you suggest?" he called back and watched as Flint flew over to him clutching the large red ball under his arm.

"Loser does whatever the winner wants," Flint said and Oliver almost fell off his broom at what sounded like a suggestive tone.

'_Heat must be getting to me_,' he thought as the two boys shook hands. He continued his way to the hoop as Flint flew towards the middle of the 'pitch'.

Because the two had known each other all their lives, they had played Quidditch together. The game had grown from throwing it past one another to what they played now. The whole point of their game wasn't just to score, but to see who could come up with the most intricate way of doing so.

Spells were allowed as long as it wasn't casted on the Quaffle or injured the Keeper. Although he would never admit it, their special version really helped improve Oliver's skills.

"Ready?" Flint called, flying back and forth. Oliver nodded ready for whatever the Slytherin came up with. Red light shot out of Flint's wand when he shouted, "_Rictusempra_!"

Oliver clutched onto his broom tightly as he doubled over in laughter. It had never actually occurred to him that the older boy would use such a childish spell. He cracked open an eye just in time to watch the Quaffle to soar through the hoop.

Almost as quickly as the tickling started, it ended. Oliver calmed himself down before glaring at the black haired youth. "That was low," he mumbled, knowing full well that Flint could hear him.

"Isn't that what Slytherins do?" his companion called then flew to gather up the red ball. Oliver continued to glare at him and made sure to be attentive to what spells Flint was used for the rest of his turn.

Although it was easier to simply case spells to score, both boys knew the real thrill was getting up close enough to the hoop to throw the ball through themselves.

In the end, Flint scored nine out of ten, only missing one when he fumbled.

As the two switched places, Oliver thought about how good the other boy was at playing Quidditch. Whenever it was the two of them, they almost seemed equal in skills. But when they played with their teammates, Flint appeared to be more concerned with the other Slytherin players than what he was doing.

Oliver knew that if Flint wasn't aware of what pranks or dirty tricks the other Slytherins were thinking up he'd be brilliant at Quidditch. He was brought out of his musings when Flint called out, "Stop day dreaming and throw the ball!"

With a small glare, Oliver flew quickly to the hoop and threw the ball in when Flint ducked. The ball was barely past the hoop when he caught it then flew back to the center of the field. "That's one for me," he called smugly then proceeded to try different techniques.

"If you make this it's a tie," Flint said smugly some time later. There was only one more attempt before the game was finished, and if Oliver didn't make it Flint would be the winner. The Gryffindor had tried a new move which had resulted in Flint easily catching the ball as it flew right at him.

"Be quiet," Oliver called, trying to think of a way to score. The only other time it had ended in a tie, both had agreed both were winners. If Flint agreed to it again, Oliver could always use his 'winnings' to cancel out Flint's.

Finally, he realized the best choice was just to rush him like the first time. Flint might think Oliver isn't stupid enough to try the same trick more than once in a game. Well, he was.

Oliver held the Quaffle tightly, not wanting to lose because he simply dropped the ball. Without a heads up he sped towards the hoops. It almost seemed like his plan was going to work until Flint started flying towards him just as quickly.

The two collided in the air, each falling off their broom.

Oliver groaned as he laid on the hard ground and squeezed his eyes shut even more as he tried to fight off the growing headache. When he inhaled deeply, he became highly aware of the heavy body lying atop his own.

The pressure lessened on his chest but Oliver's eyes remained closed tightly. Maybe if he remained still, Flint would get off of him and leave. Instead, the opposite happened. "Are you dead?" the Slytherin asked in an amused tone.

Oliver forced his eyes open and silently gasped at how close Flint's face was to his own. "Get off, Flint," he said quietly and tried to push the taller boy off of him. He was highly aware of their bare chests touching and sliding over each other minutely.

"Don't think so," Flint countered, grasping both of Oliver's wrists and holding them next to his head on the ground. To get more comfortable, he levered himself up adding more pressure to Oliver's wrists and his lower half. "Now…since I won-"

"You did not!" Oliver cried, trying to dislodge Flint from his spot. When that didn't work he tried to kick the other boy off but his legs were pushed apart. Now he was spread-eagle and there was nothing he could do about it.

Flint continued to smirk and acted like he wasn't interrupted. "Maybe I'll get you to do all my homework for the year," he said, pretending to think aloud when he was really talking to Oliver. "Or I could make you lose the game. Poor little Wood won't get his Cup."

Oliver's heart stopped at that thought and he tried to get him off. "Never!" he shouted then gasped when Flint pushed him back to the ground using his chest. Oliver thought he was close before, he was wrong.

"Of course, there's something else," Flint whispered in the same seductive tone he used before and Oliver realized he was staring at something on his face. Or maybe…

Before he could finish that thought, Flint lowered his head and gently kissed him. Oliver was frozen for a moment before he felt a light suction on his lips and pushed his head up enough to kiss Flint back.

It started off slow and hesitant, like each was waiting for the other to pull away. When nothing of the sort happened, the kiss became more heated as they each realized what it meant.

Somehow Flint had released Oliver's wrists and his hands were clutching at the black hair like a lifeline. The Gryffindor rocked his hips against the other boy's earning a low and erotic moan.

Finally, they pulled away for much needed oxygen and stared at each other while panting heavily. "No wonder you've never had a girlfriend," Flint repeated his earlier words but Oliver shut him up when he pulled him down for some more snogging.

oO0Oo

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